Deep Down
by Surreptitious
Summary: -I know you aren’t running late, or had anything come up. I know it deep down. That’s why I’m still waiting here: to spite the feelings, the emotion – and yes, the pain."


**A/N:** _Yet another one-shot, I know, I know. So this is in Draco's pov, after Voldemort's defeat and Hogwarts. Basically, Draco and Ginny were together, and circumstances explained in the story drew them apart. Draco worked with Dumdledore in the war against Voldemort - he infiltrated Deatheater ranks, thus, he has the mark. Draco, Ginny, Harry and a few of the others that provided major help in Voldemort's death fled to Muggle England as a precaution against remaining Deatheater and threats as such.  
takes a breath Ok. Enjoy the story, ducks._

**Disclaimer:** Don't own it. Bah.

**Deep Down**

Ginny, I'm standing alone out here. Feel like I'm in some sort of muggle soap opera. Under a streetlamp, eleven o'clock at night, and on a dirty, misty side road. That's where I am.

A dog limped into the pallid light as I waited for you. I threw a stone at it; it yelped and ran off…

Didn't hurt it, though. I know what you're thinking. And I know that _you_ hate when I smirk like this, but God, Gin. I'm not a monster. Funny how I can't touch a hair on anything because you "know how I am". And you know nothing.

I don't kill for the joy of it, like your precious Tom. I don't hate killing like your precious Harry. I do what needs to be done, and hell, Gin, you don't know me and I'm so sick of you thinking you do, but I can never just–

No, I'll stop. I'm not going to pity myself. No more outbursts.

And I'm still waiting for you. I won't give up hope. Not yet.

Truth is, Gin, I'm not a brutal person. I kill. But I don't enjoy it. And you could never, ever see past that stupid mark on my arm. Oh, you said you understood, that you didn't care, but really? You thought it was my identity. You, who should have known better than to trust such a ridiculous theory. It's not who I was. It was only a mark. Now, it's only a scar.

You know, I wanted to love you so bad. I wanted something to hold onto in those days. The darkness could have – would have – been overwhelming were it not for the hope of someday knowing love.

You just couldn't give up your hero act. That whole "Turn-an-evil-deatheater-into-sodding-Harry-Potter-" obsession. You know what I'm talking about.

I honestly didn't want to see you hurt, at the start.

I guess I still don't, deep down. But 'deep down' is a tricky place, and it can slide and shift when one seeks decisiveness. Especially a crucial decision.

Well, my 'deep down', gut feeling told me to give you a chance.

And will you look at that: A Noble Choice.

Strange, isn't it, that the one instance you could have seen any sign of change in me, you throw it in my face?

I've been here for an hour and a half, Gin.

I know you aren't running late, or had anything come up. I know it deep down.

That's why I'm still waiting here: to spite the feelings, the emotion – and yes, the pain.

You're bound to drive by or sneak in the ally, just to see your handiwork crawling through my eyes.

See, I know you, though you don't know me.

My foot taps impatiently on the gravel, the hard toe of my boot stirring up miniscule dust. It gets on my cloak, and my eyes narrow.

I hate the thought of cleaning myself up for you, but we are, after all, Malfoy. And Malfoy are perfect. All the time, everywhere.

Too bad I'm in motherfucking muggle England with a decidedly un-perfect broken heart.

I hate sentimentalism. But then again, _you've_ never had a broken heart, so go ahead, laugh your arse up the floo you're taking to Potter's house.

I feel like crap, Ginny, and Malfoys never feel like crap. Especially because of something as inane as love.

Father said it weakened me, but at that time _you_ loved me too. We made the weakness a strength, threw it in my father's face proudly. High skills coupled with love go far places, and then to mighty lengths in power.

Now…I snort disparagingly. Now you've given up on my failed charity case and run to Potter. Surprise bloody surprise.

And _he's_ not even the one I'm angry about. He never had anything to do with you, romantically, though I'm sure had I not been with you, he would have. I'll never be fully "nice" to him, though he did save the wizarding world and all that rot. People don't think, don't realize the bloody wanker would have died long before he fought Voldemort at the last, were it not for other outside people. Hell, he didn't even know he was a wizard. He was helped extraordinarily along the way. And people don't even realize he's not the celebrated hero he's made out to be. Without the slytherins he hates so much infiltrating Voldemort's army, he wouldn't have stood a chance. At least…he wouldn't be, without…

I'm one of them. You were, too. But I still am.

So I'll be cordial to Potter, civil, stiffly polite, because I know you went to _him_.

And you, Ginny?

You know I'm not noble, not good.

Therefore, I'm fairly certain I'll hate you forever, deep down, inside my very gut.

...But deep down...It's a tricky place.


End file.
